THF.   ROBERT   E.  COWAN   COLLECTION 

PRKSI-.N  TK1>    TO    THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

nv 

C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 

-JUNE,   :897. 

ssiori  No  7  0  3/3" 


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&       v-vJa^^Sil^^^^^^^^^^sfiHSraB^L/:    - 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


BY 


AUTHOR'S    EDITIOX 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

THE  BANCROFT  COMPANY 
1890 


76  3/5' 
COPYRIGHT,  1890 

BY 
CHARLES     L.     PAIGE 


IS  only  a  quaint  tradition 

In  broken  accents  told — 
'Twill  scarcely  bear  rendition 

By  mortal,  over-bold  ; 
No  white  man's  heart  can  know  it, 

No  Indian  e'er  will  tell — 
The  valleys  will  not  show  it, 

Nor  the  mountains  break  the  spell. 


The  stream  will  not  reveal  it, 

It  runs  so  fast  and  strong — 
The  lake  will  still  conceal  it 

And  keep  its  secret  long  ; 
'Tis  gone,  and  gone  forever ! 

An  atom  on  the  blast — 
Or  a  wave  of  the  Sinking  river, 

Into  the  silent  past ! 


But  an  old,  old  man  remembers, 

And  feebly  tries  to  speak, 
Points  to  the  dying  embers — 

To  his  wrinkled  brow  and  cheek 
To  the  mountain  hoar  and  tawny, 

To  the  withered  Autumn  leaf — 
The  tale  of  the  White  Shoshone', 

The  tale  of  the  mvstic  chief. 


If  these  things  were,  then  this  true  record  is— 

If  they  were  not— why,  then,  here's  something  new. 

— Fugitive  Thought 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


CHAPTER  I 


WAS  years,  long  years  ago,  as  far  away 
As  wrinkled  age  from  childhood  seerns 
The  Indian  's  very  old  when  bent  and  gray. 

The  past  to  him  a  maze  of  dreams, 
Yet,  steady  flames  are  kindled  from  a  spark, 
And  bright  the  fire  that  flashes  from  the  dark. 


ii 
Long,  long  before  the  white  men  came,  said  he — 

When  he  was  young,  long  time  ago ; 
A  man  was  very  old,  who  scarce  could  see  ; 

A  hundred  years?     He  did  not  know — 
Perhaps  much  more  ;  all  were  Shoshones  then, 
With  many  wigwams,  and  the  braves  were  men. 


in 
And  all  the  valleys,  far  as  could  be  seen, 

Far  as  the  mountains  blue  and  dim. 
Waved  with  tall  grass,  a  rolling  sea  of  green ; 

The  river,  sparkling  to  the  brim, 
For  miles  and  miles,  like  silver  wound  the  river. 
To  where  it  makes  the  lake  and   sinks  forever. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


IV 

There  were  no  houses,  stores  or  wagons  then — - 
The  fish  were  plenty,  deer  were  tame, 

More  antelope,  more  buffaloes  than  men — 
And  every  year  was  just  the  same  ; 

The  summers  and  the  winters  passed  away, 

And  no  one  counted  them  or  named  each  day. 


v 
There  were  no  fences,  no  man  owned  the  land, 

Or  on  one  spot  would  live  and  die  ; 
No  towns  were  ever  built  to  always  stand, 

No  roof  to  always  hide  the  sky  ; 
A  hundred  lodges  yesterday  were  there, 
To-day  were  gone,  the  stranger  knew  not  where. 


VI 

In  summer  to  the  mountains  far  away — 
In  winter  to  the  plains  below  ; 

No  Indian  here  or  there  will  always  stay, 
In  summer's  heat  and  winter's  snow  ; 

The  world  is  wide  and  no  one  spot  complete, 

Except  for  men  who  only  work  and  eat. 


VII 

The  white  men  live  in  houses  all  the  year, 
Work  hard  for  money,  read,  keep  store — 

The  Indian  out  of  doors,  just  like  the  deer 
Has  earth  and  sky  and  asks  no  more  ; 

Nor  knows  to-day  of  past  or  future  sorrow, 

The  past  is  gone,  there  may  be  no  to-morrow 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


VIII 

There  are  too  many  men  and  some  must  go, 

The  Indians  first  to  other  land  ; 
The  great  Shoshone  Chief  had  told  them  so — 

Against  the  sun  had  waved  his  hand, 
And  shook  his  head,  and  told  that  all  would  be 
Just  as  it  is,  and  all  old  men  would  see. 


IX 

He  saw  so  very  far,  he  always  knew, 
Yet  spoke  but  little,  softly,  slow — 

And  everything  he  said  was  always  true, 
His  nod  was  yes,  his  silence,  no  ; 

When  he  was  quiet  all  the  camps  were  still, 

He  raised  his  hand,  it  signaled  every  hill. 


x 

In  council  he  spoke  well,  his  words  were  few, 
But  old  men  bowed,  and  braves  were  still — 

For  come  what  might,  he  knew  just  what  to  do 
On  the  wide  plain,  or  highest  hill ; 

Let  sickness  come,  or  danger,  want  or  war 

The  word  came  first  to  him  from  near  or  far. 


XI 

Where  e'er  his  lodge  was  set  there  many  came, 
Though  long  the  trail,  'twas  never  dim — 

For  where  he  went  was  always  found  the  game. 
And  the  Great  Spirit  guided  him  ; 

Let  the  long  winter  come  with  snow  and  storm, 

No  one  was  hungry,  every  wigwam  warm. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


XII 

But,  he  is  gone!  and  with  him  many  a  brave! 

Their  fires  are  out,  their  lodges,  where? 
On  the  Black  Mountain  still  the  cedars  wave — 

Too  sadly  wave, — they  are  not  there  ; 
See,  in  the  valley,  houses  everywhere — 
But  not  a  wigwam,  Malo  is  not  there. 


XIII 

Yet  the  thin  smoke  from  Indian  fires  you  see, 
Here  in  the  hills,  yes,  some  are  here! 

Some  boys,  some  squaws  and  some  old  men  like  me, 
With  faces  red,  but  hearts  of  deer! 

Where  are  the  warriors,  where  is  Malo?     Why 

Do  white  men  come  so  fast  and  Indians  die! 


XIV 

Ugh!     He  spoke  well!     He  knew,  long  years  ago, 
He  waved  his  hand  and  shook  his  head — 

Pointed  far  off  to  the  white  peaks  and  snow, 
We  knew  his  sorrow  but  not  all  he  said  ; 

Why  did  he  go?     And  will  he  always  ride, 

Before  the  wind  and  storm,  to  always  hide? 


xv 
We  see  him  in  the  mornings,  on  the  plain — 

Ride  through  the  shadowy  mountains  there  ; 
See  warriors  follow,  come,  and  go  again— 

But  with  the  sun  all  goes  to  air! 
Fast  o'er  the  frozen  snow,  before  the  gale 
He  rides,  they  follow  fast,  we  find  no  trail. 


THE   WHITE  SHOSHONE 


XVI 

And  the  white  sequaw  with  the  yellow  hair, 
Pale  and  afraid,  eyes  like  the  sun ; 

White?     White  like  the  chief  but  soft  and  fair, 
Does  she  now  listen,  is  she  won? 

Malo  was  strong  and  brave,  his  words  were  wise, 

But  ah!     He  looked  too  deep  into  her  eyes. 


XVII 

Or  does  she  flee  and  Malo  yet  pursue, 
The  warriors  following  on,  and  on — 

Far,  far  into  the  distant  shadows  blue, 
Or  through  the  mystic  hills  at  dawn? 

It  may  be  they  live  where  the  river  goes, 

Deep  underneath  the  mountains,  no  one  knows. 


XVIII 

Somewhere  they  are — a  thousand  lodges  are — 

Hosts  of  red  faces,  Indians  all: 
There  the  white  maiden,  like  the  brightest  star, — 

There  the  great  Malo,  strong  and  tall ! 
There  all  the  vanished  herds,  the  fish  and  game, 
With  rivers,  skies  and  mountains  just  the  same. 


XIX 

Broad  is  the  trail  and  trod  by  many  feet. 

But  all  press  forward  on  the  track- 
To  some  far  place  where  sky  and  mountains  meet, 

Not  one,  not  ever  one  comes  back! 
Where  leads  the  trail?    Do  none  but  white  men  know 
Where  is  the  land  where  only  dead  men  go? 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


Perhaps  'tis  where  so  many  suns  have  gone, 

In  fire  and  gold  beyond  the  land ; 
Or  whence  they  come,  in  gold  and  fire  at  dawn, 

Across  the  world,  none  understand  ; 
Where  all  the  thousand  moons,  the  stars  shall  stay 
When  they  have  left  the  skies  and  gone  away. 


XXI 

Ugh?     Indians  are  not  strong  to  read,  or  think, 
Their  heads  but  full  of  things  they  see — 

And  the  fierce  water  that  the  white  men  drink 
But  staggers  them,  they  fight  or  flee  ; 

Yet  thoughts  they  have  and  though  they  cannot  know? 

They  wonder  still  that  this,  or  that,  is  so. 


XXII 

Ah,  in  the  time  that  was  so  long  ago — 
Were  many  happier  days  than  now  ; 

Faint  voices  come  on  all  the  winds  that  blow, 
And  bring  thoughts  back  ;  we  know  not  how 

They  come,  faces  long  gone  and  vanished  forms 

Return  with  flying  clouds,  or  whistling  storms. 


xxin 
He  came  across  the  mountains,  o'er  the  sand, 

Which  for  long  miles  is  dry  and  dead — 
None  saw  him  come,  but  first  they  saw  him  stand 

Beside  his  horse,  with  lifted  head  ; 
The  great  black  horse,  with  iron  upon  his  feet, 
Limbs  of  the  deer  but  stronger  and  more  fleet  ! 


OF  THE 

"JNIVERS 


CHAPTER  II 

i 

EFORE  the  sky  was  red  at  dawn  he  came — 

Came  close,  too  close  for  one  alone; 
Stranger  and  foe  to  us  meant  much  the  same 
Who  found  no  friends  in  men  unknown! 
Yet  he  stood  there,  so  young,  so  white  and  tall- 
Making  no  sign  of  fight  or  fear  at  all! 

ii 
The  braves  sprang  to  their  feet  and  quickly  ran 

To  ponies  grazing  near  the  spot — 
While  dark  eyes  glanced  to  the  great  horse  and  man 

Who  saw  them  all  but  heeded  not ; 
The  warriors  gazed  in  wonder,  but  their  eyes 
Shone  fiercely,  anxious  for  the  certain  prize. 

in 
Some  reached  for  arrows  but  no  bow  was  bent, 

The  capture  sure,  none  thought  to  kill  ; 
But  forward,  circling,  watching  as  they  went, 

Sprang  many  men,  the  prize  stood  still ! 
The  great  horse,  freed  from  saddle,  ropes  and  rein 
But  raised  his  ears,  and  turned  to  graze  again. 

IV 

The  stranger  laughed,  as  one  who  feared  no  harm — 
Made  signs  of  peace  that  Indians  know — 

While  something  gleamed  and  shone  upon  his  arm 
That  was  not  spear,  or  knife  or  bow! 

Straight  to  the  fire  he  strode.     The  chief  stood  back 

And  signaled  runners  take  the  white  man's  track! 


is         THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


He  quickly  saw  the  sign  and  laughed  again, 
Lifting  one  finger,  shook  his  head — 

Then  waved  his  arm  toward  the  open  plain, 
Motioned  for  water,  food  and  bed  ; 

At  the  chief's  fire  took  venison  from  the  poles, 

Then,  like  the  Indian,  broiled  it  on  the  coals! 


All  eyes  were  on  the  stranger,  some  admired 
While  others  gleamed  with  doubt  or  fear  ; 

He  motioned  to  his  feet,  that  he  was  tired — 
Then  pointed  far,  where  stood  a  deer, 

He  raised  his  rifle,  aiming  slow  and  true — 

While  all  stood  wondering  what  he  meant  to  do — 


VII 

The  flash  of  fire,  the  smoke,  the  sudden  noise 
Were  things  not  seen  or  heard  before! 

The  startled  warriors  shouted,  squaws  and  boys 
Ran  off  and  could  be  seen  no  more! 

The  chief  and  others  saw  the  deer's  wild  bound 

And  saw  him  fall,  and  struggling,  tear  the  ground. 


VIII 

One  brave,  half  doubting,  started  for  the  game, 

Oft  glancing  backward  as  he  ran  ; 
Some  followed  cautiously,  while  others  came 

And  mutely  gazed  at  gun  and  man  : 
Then,  many  speaking,  questioned,  it  was  queer 
What  made  the  noise  and  smoke,  what  killed  the  deer? 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


IX 

No  arrow  half  so  far  was  ever  sped 

With  sound  of  thunder,  fire  and  smoke; 

The  deer,  yet  warm,  was  brought  but  still  and  dead! 
Its  red  side  showed  the  fatal  stroke — 

Ah,  we've  learned  since  the  unseen  leaden  ball, 

That  makes  men  great  to  kill  and  conquer  all. 


x 
Yes.  all  the  tribes  have  learned  it,  one  by  one, 

Been  driven  back  or  killed  like  game  ; 
Shoshone's  learned  to  dread  the  white  man's  gun, 

To  fear  its  spiteful  flash  of  flame! 
They  feared  not  men,  where  equal  chance  was  given 
They  fought  like  men  and  not  like  squaws,  were  driven. 


XI 

The  ride  is  the  ruler  of  the  world — 

Speaking  one  word  with  deadly  breath  ; 

Unseen  but  sure  its  fatal  voice  is  hurled 

From  fiery  throat.     Its  one  word,  death — 

Has  cut  the  bow-strings  of  a  host  of  braves, 

Made  warriors  flee,  or  sent  them  to  their  graves. 


XII 

It  was  unfair!     As  helpless  as  the  deer 
The  Indian  fell  or  starved;  the  gun 

Has  taken  all  the  world  and  filled  with  fear 
The  bravest  hearts.     All  must  be  done 

Just  as  the  white  man  thinks;  the  earth  is  his, 

Be  thus,  he  says, — or  die!  and  so  it  is. 


14         THE  WHITE  SHO SHONE 


XIII 

It  is  not  right,  for  different  men  were  made 

And  given  mountains,  lands  and  streams  ; 

Some  plants  are  for  the  sun,  some  for  the  shade — 
Who  thinks  to  change  them  only  dreams  ; 

The  mountains  stand,  the  land  stays  always  so — 

The  stream  flows  on,  men  only  come  and  go. 


XIV 

Some  day  a  mightier  race  of  men  will  come, 
Take  all  your  cities,  hill  and  plain, 

Claim  the  whole  world  and  make  of  it  a  home, 
For  savages  and  beasts  again  ; 

Men  can  not  always  live  on  fiery  drink — 

Or  stay  in  houses,  work  or  read,  or  think. 


xv 
Ages  ago,  far  southward,  cities  grew — 

Men  builded  them  of  solid  stone, 
Great  towns  were  there,  how  many  no  one  knew — 

They  came  and  went,  now  all  are  gone  ; 
Huge  piles  of  stone  are  there — high  as  yon  hill — 
The  land  is  like  the  desert,  dead  and  still. 


XVI 

Your  race  is  rich  and  wise,  why  go  so  fast, 
Kill  all  the  game,  cut  forests  down, 

Have  roads  of  iron,  great  engines  whizzing  past — 
Spoil  every  valley  with  a  town  ? 

Have  crowds  of  strangers  come  and  fill  the  land, 

To  work  for  pay,  we  did  not  understand. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE        15 


XVII 

Ah,  he  knew  well  !  He  liked  it  not,  but  came 
Where  much  less  troubled  men  could  live. 

Where  life  was  quiet  and  the  land  was  tame — 
None  had  to  sell  but  all  to  give  ; 

Chiefs  then  were  great  when  brave,  or  strong  or  wise, 

Not  for  big  herds,  broad  lands  or  thinking  eyes. 


XVIII 

He  was  an  Indian,  though  his  face  was  white 
His  eyes  not  black,  were  deep  and  true  ; 

Spare,  strong  and  tall  he  was,  his  step  as  light 
As  mine  was  once,  his  hair  dark,  too — 

Dark,  straight  and  long  like  ours,  we  wondered  then 

From  whence  he  came,  from  what  strange  tribe  of 
men. 

XIX 

He  saw  all  things  and  knew,  but  did  not  stare 
Not  listening,  yet  he  always  heard  ; 

When  any  moved  he  knew  why,  how  or  where, 
Yet  watched  each  rabbit,  squirrel,  bird. 

Long  by  the  fire  he  sat,  some  strange  words  said — 

Then  took  chief  Wahko's  lodge  and  took  his  bed. 

xx 
He  knew  men  well,  great  Wahko's  eyes  were  bright, 

He  saw  each  move  the  stranger  made  ; 
Fierce  he  could  be,  and  none  more  quick  to  fight, 

And  when  he  spoke  none  disobeyed  ! 
But  now  he  only  gazed,  while,  one  by  one 
He  had  the  stranger's  saddle  brought  and  gun. 


j6         THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


XXI 

These  near  the  lodge  were  placed  by  careful  hands, 
The  great  horse  led  to  better  feed  ; 

No  doubt  the  stranger,  bound  for  other  lands 
Would  soon  awake  and  onward  speed. 

He  was  no  foe,  but  some  great  chief  unknown, 

With  mighty  followers,  though  he  seemed  alone. 


XXII 

Long  hours  he  slept  while  all  the  camp  was  stilled — 
Yet  many  talked,  or  watched  or  guessed — 

Measured  the  distance  where  the  deer  was  killed, 
Looked  closely  at  its  wounds  when  dressed  ; 

Eyed  the  queer  gun,  of  polished  steel  and  wood, 

Horse,  ropes  and  saddle,  no  one  understood. 


XXIII 

Some  took  the  trail  and  followed  far  the  track 
Of  the  black  horse,  down  to  the  plain — 

There  every  trace  was  lost,  and  all  came  back, 
The  moving  sand  made  tracking  vain  ; 

Of  horse  or  man  no  further  signs  they  found, 

Though  their    shrewd  eyes   saw  far,  and   read    the 
ground. 

XXIV 

Runners  to  distant  camps  were  sent,  men  came — 
But  none  had  seen  or  heard  of  him  ; 

All  much  surprised,  they  wondered,  talked  the  same, 
Whence  could  he  come,  unknown  to  them? 

The  horse  was  watched  as  if  from  him  to  learn, 

But,  from  the  camp  his  steps  would  never  turn. 


CHAPTER  III 

i 

HEX  he  had  fed,  straight  to  the  fire  he 

Fwent — 
Looked  fierce,  and  snorted,  stepped  with  care; 
'assed  all  the  rest  to  stop  at  Wahko's  tent 
As  if  he  knew  his  rider  there! 
With  big  bright  eyes  and  shining  coat  he  stood, 
Heart,  speed  and  strength  for  mountain,  plain  or  flood. 

ii 
In  after  time  his  mighty  power  was  tried, 

Blood,  strength  and  speed  they  failed  not  then— 
When  hardier  steeds  than  him  exhausted,  died 

Urged  to  the  last  by  desperate  men ! 
They  followed  fast  o'er  desert,  hill  and  plain 
They  followed  far  but  never  raced  again ! 

in 
Kosak  they  named  him,  horse  with  iron  heart ; 

Him  none  but  two  had  e'er  bestrode, 
Across  the  plain  he  sped,  swift  as  a  dart — 

And  faltered  not  with  double  load  ! 
Where  now  is  he  ?  may  not  his  tireless  feet 
Still  skim  the  ground,  as  faithful,  strong  and  fleet  ? 

IV 

The  white  chief  came,  and  stroking  Kosak's  head, 
Placed  on  him  saddle,  rein  and  gun  ; 

Then  the  great  horse  to  wondering  Wahko  led — 
Where  steel  and  silver  caught  the  sun; 

Made  Kosak  stand,  then  gave  the  chief  his  rein — 

And  walked  away  back  to  the  fire  again. 


i8       THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


No  words  he  spoke,  but  Wahko  understood 
The  stranger's  sign  to  lodge  and  fire — 

To  mountain,  valley,  stream,  to  skins  and  food  ; 
No  words  were  needed,  why  inquire  ? 

He  asked  to  stay,  be  friendly,  hunt  and  fish — 

And  offered  all  he  had  to  gain  the  wish. 


VI 

Wahko,  the  chief,  much  pleased,  stood  tall  with  pride, 
Marked  well  the  horse,  limbs,  nostril,  back — 

His  round  bright  eye,  sharp  ear,  his  glossy  side, 
Broad  breast,  good  feet  and  curving  neck! 

Looked  close  at  gun  and  saddle,  nothing  said, 

But  doubtful  what  to  say,  he  bowed  his  head. 


VII 

Then,  to  the  stranger  signed,  that  food  and  tent, 
Land,  stream  and  camp  like  air  was  free  ; 

And  leading  Kosak  here  and  there  he  went, 

Where  some  might  touch  and  all  could  see! 

Unsaddled  then,  the  horse  was  left  to  stray, 

Though  many  eyes  were  on  him  all  that  day. 

VIII 

Large  skins  and  robes  of  fur  were   brought,    soon 
placed, 

And  a  great  lodge  was  made  anew  ; 
Straight  poles  were  set  and  all  securely  laced, 

With  thongs  and  sinews  woven  through. 
Water  was  brought  in  baskets,  fish  and  game— 
Until  like  Wahko's  lodge  it  seemed  the  same. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHON& 


IX 

Wahko,  well  pleased  with  all,  yet  often  still; 

Eyed  the  white  stranger  where  he  moved  ; 
Saw  with  quick  step  and  free  he  climbed  the  hill, 

Saw  Kosak  watching  him  he  loved  ! 
Enough,  when  the  white  chief  awoke  next  day 
Saddle  and  gun  he  found  beside  him  lay. 


x 
And  Wahko  always  followed  close  with  him, 

Watching  strange  acts  of  skill  or  might, 
His  well-made  dress  of  buckskin,  strength  of  limb. 

Great  horse  and  weapons,  skin  so  white  ! 
So  sure  he  was  to  know,  so  quick  to  do, 
And  everything  he  said  always  so  true. 


XI 

Some  saw  him  watch  for  hours  the  herds  of  deer, 
The  trees,  the  streams,  the  stars  or  sky — 

Bring  bits  of  rock  and  flowers  from  far  and  near, 
Do  many  things  when  none  knew  why  ; 

Fire  from  the  sun  he  brought,  or  from  his  hand, 

Caught  fish  and  game  when  none  could  understand! 


XII 

Some  doubted  him  and  others  felt  in  awe. 
Thinking  his  powers  beyond  belief  ; 

But  injuring  none  and  helping  all,  they  saw 
How  great  he  was,  and  called  him  chief ; 

Malo,  the  great  white  chief;  the  time  was  when 

His  word  or  sign  could  rousera  thousand  men. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHOXE 


XIII 

A  thousand  braves  would  come  at  sign  or  call, 

Each  one  to  follow  where  he  led  ; 
To  hunt  or  fight,  till  the  last  man  should  fall  ; 

They  often  murmured  when  he  said, 
That  peace  was  wise,  and  brave  men  last  to  fight- 
Cowards  and  curs  the  first  to  snarl  and  bite. 


XIV 

Across  the  world  he  said,  men  went  to  war 
And  many  brave  men  fought  and  fell  ; 

That  thousands  died,  and  sorrow  spread  afar — 
Though  why  they  fought  but  fools  could  tell  ! 

By  making  peace  great  warriors  rose  to  fame, 

Those  making  war  were  only  known  to  shame  ! 


xv 

And  so  it  was  ;  for  many  moons  he  stayed — 
Learned  soon  to  understand  and  speak, 

Till  many  dark-eyed  boys  grew  less  afraid, 
And  many  a  maid  less  shy  or  meek; 

Welcome  he  was  to  join  in  dance  or  game, 

Which  lasted  always  longer,  if  he  came. 


XVI 

Sure  traps  were  made  for  birds,  for  furs  and  fish 
Strange  spears  and  barbs,  unknown  before — 

Long  coats  of  beaver  skins,  and  none  could  wish, 
None  knew,  or  thought,  or  cared  for  more  ; 

Great  hunts  there  were,  and  Malo  first  to  go, 

Learned  every  trail  through  forest,  sage  and  snow. 


THE   WHITE  SHOSHO.\J': 


XVII 

Sometimes  to  distant  camps  alone  he  went, 
Or  rode  with  Wahko  miles  away. 

Till  known  and  welcome  at  the  farthest  tent— 
For  days  or  months  if  he  would  stay  ; 

Sometimes,  with  many  braves,  he  took  the  trail 

If  furs  were  needed  or  if  food  should  fail. 


XVIII 

He  always  knew  the  best,  no  eye  more  true 
To  follow  track  or  guess  the  ground, 

For  buffalo,  big  sheep  and  deer  he  knew 

Where  all  herds  moved,  and  soon  were  found 

Shrewd  woho,  fox,  sly  beaver,  otter,  mink 

Like  fools  were  caught  if  Malo  cared  to  think. 


But  most  he  loved  the  camp,  the  fires  by  night, 
The  sky  and  stars,  or  the  great  moon  ; 

The  cries  of  wild-fowl,  gathering  for  the  flight, 
Of  woho,  wolf,  coyote,  coon — 

His  ear  loved  sounds,  and  understood  the  speech 

Of  all  that  lived,  the  joys  or  woes  of  each. 


xx 

He  studied  well  the  world,  not  men  alone — 
No  empty  town  or  city  here, 

Built  up  with  ugly  houses,  dead  bare  stone- 
To  struggle  for  with  toil  and  fear  ; 

The  earth  is  full  of  life  and  man  but  one 

Of  many  thousand  things  beneath  the  sun. 


22         THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


XXI 

Men  should  have  room  or  else  their  thoughts  grow 
small ; 

In  little  space  they  hear  and  see 
Few  sounds  and  sights  and  think  those  few  are  all  ; 

Men  must  have  room,  see  far  and  free 
'Twas  thus  he  thought,  but  ah,  her  small  pale  face 
Made  him  forget  who  might  have  saved  a  race  ! 

XXII 

Why  not  some  other,  many  glanced  at  him — 

Wanaraa,  blushing,  walked  away 
When  he  was  near  ;  and  yet  the  eye  was  dim 

That  could  not  see  the  wish  to  stay ! 
And  fair  she  was,  with  graceful  step  and  form, 
Bright  shining  hair  and  eyes,  red  cheeks  and  warm. 


XXIII 

Soft  furs  and  moccasins  for  him  were  made 
By  skillful  hands,  and  patient  care, 

With  beads  and  feathers  wrought  which  it  was  said — 
Wanama  had  been  proud  to  wear  ; 

From  him  to  her  sometimes  fine  presents  came, 

But  then,  he  gave  to  others  just  the  same. 

XXIV 

One  time  when  many  came  to  feast  and  dance — 
When  all  the  camp  was  full  of  men. 

Some  warriors  came  who  found  the  fires  by  chance 
But,  strangers  all,  they  turned  again 

And  soon  were  gone,  save  one  alone  who  stayed, 

Wounded  and  ill  who  trembled — much  afraid. 


CHAPTER  IV 

i 

IS  breast  was  bleeding,  but  the  wound   was 

small, 

And  many  watched  him  try  to  speak, 
Doubting  the  weakness  of  a  man  so  tall — 

Yet  always  from  his  wound  would  break 
A  stream  of  blood  ;  when  Malo  came  his  eyes 
Flashed  quick  with   fear,  with  hatred  and  surprise. 

ii 
Malo  looked  close,  spoke  fast  and  shook  his  head. 

Though  the  sick  brave  seemed  not  to  hear — 
Or  understood  him  not ;  then  Malo  said 

The  brave  would  die.     Not  bow  or  spear 
Had  made  the  wound  ;  that  nothing  could   be  done, 
And  death  would  come  before  another  sun. 

in 
An   old   man  came  who  knew  the  stranger's  tongue, 

Talked  slow  with  him  and  heard  him  tell 
How  he,  with  twenty  others,  hunted  long 

Far  to  the  south ;  that  all  went  well 
Until  they  saw  a  fire,  two  nights  before — 
Near  the  great  falls  where  many  waters  roar. 

IV 

There  they  had  gone  at  early  dawn  next  day — 

Saw  strange  things  there,  by  them  not  known; 

Men  with  white  faces  motioned  them  away, 

Though  they  signed  peace;  one  brave  alone 

Walked  to  their  fire, — to  him  they  sternly  spoke  ! 

He  offered  them  his  arrows,  these  they  broke  ! 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


V 

Then  all  the  braves  had  stood  away,  quite  far — 
And  only  looked,  they  had  not  seen 

White  men  before  ;  they  did  not  think  of  war ! 
But  only  peace,  and  then  between 

Them  and  the  fire  a  white  man,  tall  and  proud 

Came,  motioned  them  to  go,  spoke  strong  and  loud. 


VI 

The  warriors  moved,  but  did  not  understand 
Why  they  should  go,  so  stood  again  ; 

Then  the  tall  man  with  something  in  his  hand 
Pointed  to  them  across  the  plain  ; — 

Quick  fires  flashed  !     Great  noises,  smoke,  men  fell ! 

Three  fell  to  die!  what  killed  them  none  could  tell — 


All  then  was  fear  and  mounting  fast,  they  fled, — 
Save  three,  who  not  again  would  ride  ! 

And  as  they  rode,  he  felt  his  wound,  which  bled 

And  pained  him  much  ;  they  thought  to  hide, 

Till  looking  back,  they  saw  the  white  men  fly 

Swift  as  themselves;    They  stopped  to  question  why. 


VIII 

The  tents  were  moving,  horses  ran  with  them — 
Leaving  the  camp,  they  too  showed  fear ! 

Then  he  turned  back,  the  braves  all  followed  him — 
Strange  men  who  killed  then  ran  like  deer  ! 

Short  council  held,  they  had  gone  slowly  back 

And  when  dark  came,  they  followed  on  the  track. 


THE   WHITE  SHOSH 


IX 

And  as  they  rode  their  hearts  grew  fierce  and  hot, 
Till,  late  at  night,  the  fire  they  found — 

Of  the  strange  men  ;  then  they  had  questioned  not 
But,  creeping  on,  close  to  the  ground, 

They  came  quite  near;  then  with  fierce  cries  they  rose, 

Wild  with  revenge  and  hate  and  fought  the  foes  ! 


x 

The  white  men  fought,  but  in  the  dark  they  fell — 
Seven  men,  none  ran  away  he  said; 

He  then  grew  sick  and  little  more  could  tell, 
But  that  not  all,  not  all  were  dead. 

White  sequaws,  two  there  were;  one  hurt  that  day 

Had  died,  one  lived,  and  she  they  brought  away. 


xr 
Six  braves  were  killed,  the  others — gone  and  he 

Was  dying  fast,  no  more  could  speak; 
Pointing  to  Malo,  when  he  scarce  could  see, 

His  eyes  would  flash  !  then  very  weak — 
He  slept,  to  die;  Malo  was  quickly  gone, 
Called  Kosak,  would  have  rode  away  alone, — 


XII 

So  quick  he  was — and  spoke  so  short  and  stern  ! 

But  Wahko,  with  some  twenty  men 
Rode  fast  with  him,  for  never  would  he  turn, 

But  always  ride;  straight  South,  and  then 
Straight  East;  he  well  knew  Kosak  would  not  fail 
Though  dark  it  was,  his  feet  would  find  the  trail. 


26         THE  WHITE  SHO SHONE 


XIII 

Malo  was  wrong  but  once,  this  time  too  fast — 
Too  far  he  rode;  he  could  not  know 

So  dark  it  was  !  We  swam  the  stream  at  last 
And  crossed  the  valley,  far  too  low. 

The  trail  was  kept  high  up  above  the  plain 

To  see  far  off,  but  all  eyes  looked  in  vain. 


XIV 

On  the  wide  plain  no  fire  was  seen,  no  spark 
O'er  all  the  miles  of  sage  and  sand; 

Wolves  howled  and  wohos,  hundreds  in  the  dark- 
No  other  life  in  all  the  land; 

No  sounds  of  men,  below  it  seemed  but  air 

Around,  beyond — and  darkness  everywhere. 


xv 
Long  they  rode  on,  or  listening,  looked  for  signs 

Of  fires  and  men,  but  all  were  gone; 
Till  where  the  white  cliffs  stand,  in  broken  lines, 

They  stayed  to  rest  and  wait  for  dawn. 
Here  they  had  slept  beneath  the  sky  alone 
On  the  small  sage  for  beds,  or  chalky  stone. 


XVI 

And  then  at  dawn,  far  distant,  men  were  seen, 
Who  to  the  South  and  East  rode  fast ; 

Had  crossed  the  valley  higher  up,  between 

The  camps  and  stream,  where  Malo  passed  ! 

All  sought  their  horses,  but  there  was  but  one, 

And  that  one  Kosak,  all  the  others  gone  ! 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHO.\E        27 


XVII 


The  tracks  led  to  the  lodges,  miles  away; 

The  brave  who  watched  had  slept!  Malo 
Would  ride  alone,  for  none  could  make  him  stay — 

And  they  on  foot  must  follow  slow; 
For  horses  one  was  sent,  but  he  must  run 
And  half  the  day  be  lost  and  high  the  sun  ! 


XVIII 

Malo  rode  fast,  the  great  black  horse  ran  free, 
But  well  his  mighty  tracks  were  known; 

None,  deep  like  his,  did  Wahko  ever  see — 

For  days  they  stayed  where  sands  had  blown 

Across  the  plain  with  long,  low  bounds  he  sped 

Straight  for  the  East  where  all  the  sky  was  red. 


XIX 

Malo  rode  well,  no  warrior  kept  his  place 
In  easier  form  on  the  long  ride; 

Always  o'er  Kosak's  ears  he  looked,  his  face, 
His  breast,  turned  never  once  aside; 

And  Kosak  knew,  if  some  great  leap  he  made 

The  leap  was  always  sure  and  free  his  head  ! 


Malo  rode  far  and  soon  beyond  the  sight 
Where  sage  or  cedar  grew  was  gone; 

Then  came  the  sun,  and  all  the  plain  was  bright — 
But  Kosak's  trail  they  followed  on; 

Wolves  and  coyotes  ran,  big  herds  of  deer, 

Or  stayed  to  look,  then  ran  again  in  fear. 


28       THE   WHITE  SHOSHONE 


XXI 

The  trail  was  reached  where  the  strange  braves  had 
been — 

There  Kosak's  tracks,  but  not  for  long  ; 
He  turned  across  the  hills,  ah,  he  had  seen 

And  knew  their  course.     He  might  be  wrong — 
But  no,  the  winding  river,  they  must  swim 
He'd  catch  them  there,  the  ford  best  known  to  him  ! 

XXII 

Should  they  all  follow  ?     No,  if  horses  came 
Time  would  be  lost,  and  some  must  stay; 

Ah,  we  were  slow,  he  fast,  always  the  same — 
No  head  was  clear  with  him  away. 

When  the  low  pass  was  reached,  the  sun  was  high — 

There  all  stood  still  to  look,  with  flashing  eye: 


XXIII 

Men  from  the  river  rode,  ten, — twelve, — one  fled  ! 

And  him  all  knew  whose  eyes  could  see  ; 
Malo  it  was,  and  Kosak, — fast  he  led 

While  many  followed  ;  swift  was  he  ! 
He  then  long  miles  had  run — now  carried  two, 
Long  miles  must  go,  but  ah,  it  seemed  he  flew  ! 


XXIV 

We  could  but  stand  ;  no  race  was  that  for  men — 
Though  fleet  of  foot,  the  arrow  might 

Fly  just  as  fast — but  ne'er  was  seen  again 
Through  all  the  years,  so  swift  a  flight  ! 

And  then  our  ponies  came,  we  chased  the  wind — 

Rode  fast  and  faster  but  rode  far  behind  ! 


CHAPTER  V 
i 

H  Y  make  so  many  words  ?  They  caught 

not  him — 

Their  horses  fell,  we  took  them  all 
Horses  and  men.    Ours  stood  with  shaking 
w      -^  limb 

But  Kosak,  white  with  foam,  stood  tall ! 
His  blood  soon  cooled,  his  heart  so  strong  and  great 
Beat  slow  and  true,  his  sharp  ears  firm  and  straight. 

ii 
The  sequaw  ?     She  seemed  dead,  her  face  so  pale, 

In  strange,  soft  dress,  with  yellow  hair  ! 
And  Malo  heard  her  heart,  it  did  not  fail, 

She  lived,  he  said,  and  he  saw  there 
But  only  her  ;  his  horse,  the  foes,  the  race — 
Were  all  forgot,  he  only  watched  her  face. 

in 

He  only  watched  her  face  or  took  her  hand, 
Or  spoke  to  her,  who  heard  him  not — . 
And  Kosak  stood,  made  white  with  foam  and  sand 

Proud  still  he  was!     The  fire  still  shot 
From   his   bright  eyes,    while  warriors   stroked   his 

head — . 
The  sequaw  ?     Ah,  she  wept,  she  was  not  dead. 

IV 

And  Kosak — Ugh  !     She  only  trembled,  cried 

She  always  trembled  full  of  fear 
And  always  clung  to  him,  close  to  his  side — 

With  beating  heart,  like  the  young  deer. 
She  trusted  only  him,  Wanama  came 
And  they  grew  friends  but  never  just  the  same. 


7 HE   WHITE  SH  OS  HONE 


Lolak,  they  named  her,  she  with  yellow  hair — 

They  loved  her  too  in  after  days, 
So  kind  she  was,  afraid,  so  still  and  fair, 

Yet  never  understood  their  ways. 
She  feared  them  all  but  hundreds  would  have  fought 
For  him,  for  her,  and  yet  she  saw  it  not. 


Her  foes  would  all  have  died,  fast  bound  were  they 
And  yet  she  sent  them  food  and  drink— 

Malo  unbound  them,  let  them  ride  away — 
But  ah,  he  gave  them  much  to  think  ! 

They  all  were  brought,  then  standing  with  his  gun 

He  waved  his  hand,  they  saw  the  setting  sun. 


VII 

Each  one  with  folded  arms  but  thought  to  die 
And  looked  to  him,  to  sun  and  plain  : 

At  him  with  hate  and  steady  flashing  eye — 
Not  one  feared  death  or  thought  of  pain. 

Horses  were  brought  and  to  each  wondering  brave 

A  horse  was  led,  to  each  a  rein  he  gave. 


VIII 

He  waved  his  hand  again,  their  eyes  gleamed  still, 
But,  when  they  understood  to  go — 

Each  looked  again  to  sun,  to  camp  and  hill — 

And  wondered  much,  their  thoughts  were    slow. 

Then  slow  they  rode,  taking  the  eastward  track — 

The  horses  after  many  days  came  back. 


7  HE  WHfTF.  ^HOSHOXI       3r      OF 

TNIVEB 


IX 

Malo  went  southward  far,  dead  men  were  there 
Men  with  white  faces,  all  were  found; — 

Eight  graves  were  made, — she  with  the  yellow  hair 
Knew  then,  now  white  men  know  the  ground. 

Wagons  and  guns  were  there,  all  else  was  brought 

To  her;  for  days  she  only  cried  and  thought. 


x 
Then  winter  came  and  the  great  camp  was  made 

With  many  wigwams,  lodges,  men, 
Dried  grasses  piled  for  Kosak,  close  he  stayed, 

WThen  snow  fell  deep;  the  ponies  then 
Knew  where  to  range  and  where  was  best  to  go — 
Kosak  feared  naught  but  winter's  ice  and  snow. 


He  suffered  not ;  shelter  for  him  was  spread, 
And  by  his  tent  great  fires  were  kept ; 

Lolak  ? — Xone  wanted  food  or  furs  or  bed 
By  Wanama  she  lived  and  slept  ; 

A  lodge  was  made  of  fur,  close  from  the  storm — 

Your  houses  all  are  cold,  her  lodge  was  warm. 


XII 

Malo  saw  none  but  her,  if  she  were  by, 

And  heard  no  sound  when  she  should  speak, 

But  her  low  voice,  with  ever  watching  eye 

He  guarded  her  !     Why  ?     She  was  weak  — 

She  feared  all  things  ;  she  wept ;  she  could  not  run 

Swift  like  Wanama,  strong  in  cold  or  sun. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


XIII 

The  air  was  full  of  silver  while  she  sung 

Strange  songs,  that  Indians  laughed  to  hear — 

Yet  listened  close  ;  great  Kosak  knew  her  tongue 
And  came  to  stand  with  pointed  ear, 

As  if  he  understood  ;  perhaps  'twas  so — 

There  are  so  many  things  that  none  can  know. 


XIV 

When  warmer  suns  had  come,  and  snows  had  gone, 

Kosak  was  hers  to  pet  or  ride  ; 
Well  she  could  ride  and  far,  sometimes  alone 

She  thought  she  rode  none  by  her  side — 
But  keen  eyes  watched  from  rocks,  or  bush,  or  hill, 
Or  friendly  shadows  followed  sure  and  still. 


xv 
To  any  wish  she  had  no  one  said  no  : 

Had  finest  feathers,  beads  and  furs — 
She  looked  to  mountain,  there  the  camps  would  go  ; 

She  saw  the  valley,  it  was  hers, 
Pet  fawns  for  her,  and  rabbits,  Malo  caught 
Ravens  and  birds,  for  her  alone  he  thought. 


XVI 

And  all  long  days  he  laughed  when  she  was  glad 
Made  boats  for  her  at  every  stream; 

Or.  he  was  silent  if  she  would  be  sad; 
If  she  spoke  not,  he  did  but  dream. 

Then  many  times  she  wept,  why,  none  could  tell 

And  listened  not,  though  Malo  spoke  so  well. 


THE   H'HITE  SHO$H<    \  . 

XTNIVr 


XVII 

It  takes  so  many  words,  much  time  to  say 
So  many  things;  The  summer  came 

But  ah,  so  long  ago,  so  far  away  ! 

And  nothing  now  is  left  the  same. 

The  mountains  stand  but  all  the  fires  are  gone, 

The  trails  all  dim,  the  lodges  few  and  lone. 


XVIII 

Hundreds  of  moons  ago  it  was;  men  spoke 

Again  of  white  men  to  the  East; 
Great  councils  then  were  held,  big  fires,  much  smoke 

Much  talk,  with  dance  and  feast ! 
Malo  heard  all  who  came,  sent  runners  far 
And  counseled  always  peace,  no  war. 


Fires  flashed  by  night  from  every  mountain  top, 
Or  smokes  by  day,  of  watching  men; 

Then  would  be  quiet,  signals  too  would  stop 
Then  runners  come,  fires  flash  again  ! 

Strange  stories  then  flew  fast  from  mouth  to  mouth — 

Of  men  and  wagons  seen  far  to  the  South  ! 


The  camps  were  moved  ;  ah,  she  would  have  it  so  ! 

He  waved  his  hand  but  shook  his  head — 
Pointed  to  westward,  to  the  peaks  and  snow, 

Spoke  long  to  her;  the  words  he  said 
None  knew  yet  she  would  always  stand 
Look  South,  and  point  her  small  white  hand. 


34 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


XXI 

She  liked  not  us,  the  land,  she  loved  not  him — 
And  yet,  were  any  sick,  she  brought 

The  choicest  food,  did  all  she  could  for  them  ; 
Great  medicine  failed  if  she  came  not  : 

To  him  would  kindly  speak  and  smile  to  him — 

And  then  would  weep,  her  big  bright  eyes  be  dim. 


XXII 

Did  any  die  her  tears  would  always  fall, 
And  yet,  she  counseled  not  to  weep; 

Somewhere,  she  said,  they  lived,  each  one  and  all 
And  were  not  lost  and  did  but  sleep: 

We  did  not  understand,  she  did  not  know — 

She  might  have  always  stayed,  why  should  she  go  ? 


XXIII 

He  knew  all  things  and  asked  her  still  to  stay, 
But  showed  her  fires  across  the  plain  ; 

Had  Kosak  brought,  and  with  her  rode  away- 
Then  he  alone  came  back  again  ! 

Too  sad  he  was,  his  lodge  no  more  his  home; — 

Long  days  he  watched,  and  Kosak  did  not  come. 


XXIV 

Great  fires  he  always  made  and  kept  them  bright 
Had  warriors  ride  and  watch  the  land, — 

Till,  westward  far,  was  seen  a  double  light, 
And  then  he  seemed  to  understand, 

And  ever  then,  with  Wahko,  fast  would  ride 

Long  hours  in  silence.     Friends  and  side  by  side. 


CHAPTER   VI 

i 

ND  warriors  followed  then,  great  herds  they 

found 

Much  game  was  killed  ;  it  pleased  him  not; 
The   mighty  gun   was    still,    its   sure  sharp 

sound 

Was  heard  no  more,  no  more  was  sought; 
Strong  bows  his  arm  could  bend,  his  arrows  fly 
Swift,  far  and  sure — and  yet  he  would  not  try. 

ii 
True  friend  he  was,  always  so  wise  and  brave  ; 

And  Wahko  followed  close  with  him  ; 
Why  should  he  weep  when  with  strong  hand  he  gave, 

The  silver  bow  ?     Why  his  clear  eye  be  dim  ? 
Wahko  was  great,  few  men  who  did  not  know, 
The  mighty  chief,  him  of  the  Silver  bow  ! 

in 
A  hundred  fires  went  out,  his  tribe  grew  small  ; 

Lodges  went  South,  his  bravest  men — 
To  South  and  East,  his  warriors  strong  and  tall, 

And  few,  so  few,  returned  again  ! 
Had  Malo  stayed  wise  council  would  have  won, 
And  no  fierce  battle  been,  there — to  the  sun. 

IV 

Kosak  came  back,  again  at  dawn  he  came — 

No  rider,  saddle,  rope,  or  rein  ! 
But  only  him,  the  great  horse,  just  the  same  ; 

And  Malo  found,  beneath  his  mane, 
The  speaking  paper,  long  and  close  he  read, 
Then  placed  it  by  his  heart  and  shook  his  head. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE 


V 

And  Kosak  always  watched,  he  might  have  spoke— 

His  head  so  close  to  Malo's  kept  ; 
And  all  the  night  he  stood,  or  sniffed  the  smoke, 

Or  ever  near  his  fire  he  stepped. 
Kind  hands  there  were  to  stroke  him,  soft  ones  too, 
But  he  would  look  and  sigh  as  if  he  knew  ! 


VI 

Where  had  he  been,  they  wondered  ;  ah,  so  long — 
Far  to  the  South  and  West  somewhere  ; 

He  could  not  tell,  yet  he  was  brave  and  strong, 
Had  suffered  not.     Had  she  stayed  there? 

Or  where  was  she?  and  were  there  thousands,  all 

With  faces  white,  so  fair,  or  great  and  tall  ? 


VII 

Ah,  then  days  came  and  past,  so  soon  were  gone  ! 

And  he,  with  twenty  warriors,  went 
To  South  and  West,  left  Wahko's  heart  a  stone — 

So  sad  it  was  !     His  silent  tent 
Still  stood  ;  and  Wahko  must  not  fail 
To  keep  bright  fires  !    Ah,  whither  wound  the  trail  ? 


VIII 

Where  wound  the  trail  so  narrow  that  his  friend, 
Might  not,  as  always,  with  him  ride  ? 

Why,  he  would  follow,  if,  at  some  sharp  bend, 
There  was  no  room  to  keep  his  side  ! 

But  he  said  always  no,  and  shook  his  head, — 

And  westward  rode  when  all  the  skv  was  red. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHOXE     37 


IX 

Bright   fires  were  kept  when   rain  might  come   or 
snow — 

They  always  burned  ;  he  never  came  ! 
A  hundred  fires  went  out  but  Silver  Bow 

Still  kept  some  bright,  always  the  same  ; 
Young  boys  grew  men  and  men  grew  still  and  cold — 
He  did  not  come  ;  yet  Wahko  was  so  old  ! 

x 

White  men  ?     Ah,  yes,  so  many  hundreds  !  all 

Like  him  are  white,  some  strong  and  straight  ; 

They  have  no  hearts  like  his,  their's  all  are  small 
And  quick  to  fill  with  fire  and  hate  ! 

Their  eyes  are  bright,  but  never  one  sees  clear — 

They  chilled  the  Indian's  blood  and  made  him  fear. 


XI 

They  only  saw  his  furs,  his  sequaws,  lands — 
Killed  all  the  game  or  made  it  flee  ; 

Spoke  all  with  double  tongue  !  Their  grasping  hands 
Held  not  their  hearts,  but  rifles  ;  see  ! 

See  all  the  fences,  houses,  stores  and  men, — 

And  always  strangers  come  and  go  again. 


XII 

And  they  hunt  cattle,  gold  or  work  and  read, 
Or  buy  and  sell  with  money  ;  they 

Give  Indians  money,  then  they  make  them  need — 
And  take  it  back  again,  and  say, 

That  all  is  theirs,  they  bought  it ;  then  they  fight  ! 

The  Indian's  always  wrong  and  they  are  right. 


THE  WHITE  SHOSHONE      ' 


XIII 

And  so  it  is  ;  they  claim  no  more  their  own 
But  try  to  live,  and  all  are  sad  ; 

Some  day  no  lodge  will  stand,  not  one  alone — 
And  men  will  speak  all  Indians  bad  ; 

But  then — perhaps  there  is  a  land  somewhere, 

Where  only  Indians  live,  none  others  there. 


XIV 

Or  he  will  come,  sometime,  at  dawn  again — 
Will  wave  his  hand,  great  hosts  arise  ! 

And  then  the  fires  will  burn  on  hill  and  plain, 
And  Kosak  come  with  blazing  eyes  ! 

Lodges  on  every  side  will  be,  great  braves — 

Thousands  of  Indians  ;  nowhere  any  graves. 


xv 
Ah,  he  still  lives,  we  see  him  often  ride  : 

They  are  not  shadows  at  the  dawn  ! 
And  many  follow  him  ;  they  do  not  hide. 

But  watch  and  ride  forever  on  ; 
Some  day  he's  sure  to  come  and  wave  his  hand,- 
All  will  be  changed  and  men  will  understand. 


XVI 

Ah,  so  !  He  may  be  dead,  but  Chief  Wahko 
Yet  lives,  a  bent  old  man  he  seems  ; 

None  call  him  chief,  and  he  of  the  Silver  Bow 
Speaks  brokenly,  they  think  he  dreams  ! 

He  sees  not  clear,  his  poor  old  eyes  are  dim; — 

— White  men  call  him  roughly,  old  Indian  Jim. 


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